


why don't you give love on christmas day

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Sweaters, M/M, Ugly Christmas Sweaters, choir, dooooooooorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:52:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2822510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"This is going to work, right?" he asks. "Because I still have a hard time believing this sweater is lucky."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"I asked Jeyne out in that sweater," Robb says. "And then Talisa."</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Not one of your finest moments," Theon dryly says.</i></p><p> </p><p>Or: Jon asks Sam out for Christmas. Because he's Jon Snow, and his luck is terrible, he borrows Robb's lucky mistletoe sweater to make sure things go smoothly. (Hint: they don't.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	why don't you give love on christmas day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon who asked for Jon/Sam with mistletoe, but not the classical kind. I went with mistletoe sweaters and choir director!Sam, for some godforsaken reason.
> 
> I like to think Robb's Lucky Sweater was Ned's first. so, you know, like father like son, at least in terms of Terrible Ugly Christmas Sweaters. also, Theon/Robb somehow managed to sneak in here, wow.

_Let’s sing Merry Christmas, and a happy holidays, this season may we never forget—_

”Remind me again,” Theon says, sourly, as the children’s voices drift out of the church, reminding everyone of the love of Jesus Christ saving them all, “why are we at a church on a Friday night?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before he goes on, “Oh, yeah, because you’re attracted to the choir director. Jesus, Snow, of all the people to fall in with, you go for Tarly? Really?”

Robb nudges his boyfriend, and Jon hears him hiss, “Be nice, Theon. Please. It’s almost Christmas.”

Jon just lets out a long sigh, and resists the urge to run a hand through his dark curls. He’s done his best to make his hair at least look half-tamed, as opposed to the usual untamed mess he goes for. It clashes with the incredibly gaudy mistletoe sweater he’s wearing, but then, he has it on good authority that the Lucky Sweater, as his siblings have all taken to calling it, clashes with everything.

But so far, every time somebody’s asked someone out in that sweater, they’ve gotten a huge, resounding _Yes_ , at the very least, according to everyone who's used it (which is a list that consists of almost every single one of his siblings, save Rickon). And he needs all the luck he can get, right now, considering what he’s about to do.

"This is going to work, right?" he asks. "Because I still have a hard time believing this sweater is lucky."

"I asked Jeyne out in that sweater," Robb says. "And then Talisa."

"Not one of your finest moments," Theon dryly says.

"And also Theon," Robb continues on, giving Theon a chiding look. "And Sansa asked that Hardyng guy out in it two years ago then Margaery last year, and it even worked for Arya when she tried it on Gendry."

"Gendry? You mean _Shirtless Gendry_?" Jon asks, incredulous. "She asked him out at last?"

"And now I’m thirty bucks richer and have a weekend of _Arrow_ to look forward to,” Theon smugly says. “Look, if this all goes to shit, at the very least we can have a laugh about how terrible you look in the sweater.”

"You sure know how to boost a man’s confidence, Greyjoy," Jon says, fixing his brother’s boyfriend with a cold glare. Then he smooths out the ugly woolen thing again, wishing he could just cover it up with a black leather jacket, but no—apparently, the luck only works if it’s seen in all its gaudy, mistletoe-y glory. Jon honestly isn’t feeling so lucky, right now. "You’ll both behave, right? I’d rather not end up having to bail you out of jail for public indecency. _Again_.”

Robb, at least, has the decency to blush. “Just go get him, Jon,” he says, clapping Jon on the back and steering him to the church’s entrance. “We’ll be fine. Swear on Mom’s cookies. Anyway, that was _one time_ —”

"I’ll hold you to that," Jon chuckles, then sucks in a deep breath and steps inside.

—

The funny thing is, after Ygritte—after that wild, whirlwind romance they had—Jon hadn’t really figured he’d fall in love again, and certainly not in the same way as he did with Ygritte. That had been like a free fall, exciting and new and sometimes terrifying and all the more exhilarating for it, and the break-up had been like hitting the ground.

He didn’t fall in love with Sam the same way, that was certain enough. Sam was no Ygritte, not at all, he’d proclaimed himself a coward within the first hour of their meeting, after Jon had stepped in and given Rast hell for going after the fat man, who, as Jon soon found out, had ended up unemployed after his father disowned and fired him from the family business.

 _I came out to him_ , Sam had said, shrugging, and given a sad smile. _I suppose I should’ve expected it._

They’d hit it off from there, and now that Jon looks back, in hindsight, maybe that’s where it started to creep up on him—when Sam smiled at him and said, _you’re a good friend, Jon Snow._

No, he didn’t fall in love with Sam.

To borrow from that dystopian trilogy Sansa seems to love so much, what was it again, _The Hunger Games_ , Sam crept up on him—slowly, gradually, until one day Jon looks at Sam, excitedly talking about his new job as a choir director and this new recipe Gilly had gotten him to try out, grinning in a way Jon almost never saw before then. The realization slots into place, as though it’s always been there and all he needed was the veil being lifted off his eyes, and he thinks, _Oh_.

—

So here he is, walking through the church doors in the gaudiest Christmas sweater he will ever wear. It doesn’t even fit him, is the thing, the sleeves are a little loose, and there are patches of it that are a shade or two lighter than the rest.

He sighs, smoothing it out and hoping to god he doesn’t draw the attention of the kids Sam’s directing.

Unfortunately, one of them trails off in the middle of _silent night, holy night_ , and stares at him, jaw gaping like a fish.

"Myrcella," Sam scolds her, and the girl blinks at Jon, then at Sam. "Keep going, you can hit that high note."

"Dude," a girl says, breaking off, "I know it's Christmas, but that’s a little too _bright_.” Jon recognizes her squeaky voice, somewhat—Ermesande Hayford, he thinks.

Sam turns, as though to tell Ermesande to please be quiet, then catches sight of Jon, standing in the aisle in a green-and-red mistletoe sweater just a little too big for him and falls completely silent, staring at him in sheer incredulity.

Jon says, with as much dignity as he can muster in the middle of a church with a choir full of children judging his fashion choices and his crush staring at him as though he’s sprouted a second head, “Uh. Hi, Sam.”

"What’s he wearing?" a tiny, tremulous voice asks. One of the Frey kids, Jon’s certain.

"Izzat _mistletoe_ on his sweater?”

"Jon," Rickon says, squinting at him, and of course he’s a part of the choir, Jon is _never_ going to live this down, “is that Robb’s Lucky Sweater you’re wearing?”

 _Lucky Sweater, my ass,_ he thinks, half-tempted to take it off. The only thing stopping him here, though, is the fact that Sam will probably end up trying to push him out and pleading with him to _think of the children, Jon, please, they really don’t need to see_. Instead, he sucks in a deep breath, gathers the shreds of his dignity and smiles at Sam.

"That’s a really nice sweater," Sam says, and grins. "I have a sweater just like it back home."

"We can match," Jon says. "Sam, I’m sorry I interrupted choir practice—"

"Eh, we were gonna finish up anyway," one of the kids says—Loreza Sand, apparently—before she’s hushed by the others.

"—but I had to tell you this, it’s really important and probably not church-appropriate," Jon continues on, fixing his eyes on Sam and not the kids staring at him expectantly, "but I drove all the way out here, so. Will you do me the honor of being my date to the family reunion this Christmas?"

Rickon pumps his fist into the air and yells, “I knew it!”

Sam nearly drops his baton, sputtering in surprise. “Well,” he starts. “Um, uh, well, Jon, I—I didn’t—I thought—”

"Sam," Jon says, "I like you. A lot. I think I have since we first met. You are one of the bravest people I know, and one of the smartest and kindest as well, and I would be honored if you would accompany me to the family reunion."

Sam blinks at him, then slowly smiles. “I was actually hoping to ask you out on a date this Christmas,” he confesses. “I was even going to put a speech together and everything. It was a very lovely speech, if I do say so myself.”

"I’d love to hear that speech," Jon says, truthfully.

"Are they supposed to do this in a church?" someone in the choir asks—Big Walder Frey, apparently—before somebody nudges him sharply in the side with an elbow, hard enough that he gives a yelp.

Sam turns, and sternly says, “Behave, Big Walder. And you too, Dorea.” Then he turns back to Jon, and rocks back and forth on his heels. “I think—I think I’d love to be your date, Jon,” he says. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”

Jon grins, steps closer, and bends down a little to press a chaste kiss to Sam’s lips.

When they break away and look up at the choir, Rickon’s collecting money from the rest of the choir, stuffing bills and coins into the pockets of his robe.

Sam says, very calmly, “Were all of you betting on my love life?”

"Yep," Rickon says, completely unashamed, before he nudges Robert Arryn next to him. "Cough it up," he says.

Jon laughs, then dips in for another kiss.

Maybe that Lucky Sweater really is lucky.

—

(It’s very, very lucky, as it turns out during the Christmas reunion.

And Sam—well, he’s always been one for tradition, why stop now?

Jon does not protest. At all.)


End file.
